


Reflections

by imadra_blue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon - Video Game, Dragon Age Kiss Battle, F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vignette, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reflections are in the mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by "alias_sbr" on the [Dragon Age Kiss Battle 2015](http://owlmoose.dreamwidth.org/701955.html?thread=3015939#cmt3015939). Testing out character voices and interactions here for future pieces. Set after the final battle in Dragon Age: Inquisition.

...

Morrigan peered around the rookery as she made the last few steps to the top. It was dark, despite the morning sun streaming in through the open balcony door. No amount of candles could dispel the shadows in the rookery, rendering it the gloomiest part of Skyhold. Leliana sat at her desk, as always, busy scribbling something on parchment. Morrigan waited a moment, but Leliana didn’t look up.

"Well, I’m leaving now," Morrigan announced, annoyed. Something had shifted in them both, moving in opposite directions, and Morrigan still didn’t fully understand what that was. She craved to understand it, just as she craved all the knowledge lost and abandoned by the world.

"So I’ve heard," Leliana said.

Morrigan waited again. More should be said between them, yet no words came. They had both helped the same Warden stop the Blight, though only of them had survived it. Morrigan could never forget that cold day in the Temple of Andraste as she watched Mahariel pour the dragon’s blood into the urn, determined to spite the Chantry that had persecuted his people for centuries. Perhaps he was even justified; it was not Morrigan’s position to judge. She hadn’t expected Leliana to attack him for it, and she hadn’t expected him to kill Leliana without hesitation. That moment, when Mahariel stepped over Leliana as she died, had left a sour note in Morrigan’s memories. What disturbed her wasn’t that she had watched Leliana died in a pool of her own blood—Morrigan had watched many people die and in far more unpleasant manners. But she had seen the light go out in Leliana’s eyes, as if blown out by a cold and bitter wind. It wasn’t the light of life, but something else Morrigan had no word for. Even though Leliana had miraculously survived, that light had not rekindled. Leliana’s eyes remained as dark as the ravens rustling their wings about the rookery, no matter their natural color.

With only the sound of Leliana’s quill pen scratching against paper and the croaking of the raven to fill the space between them, Morrigan sighed and turned to leave, wondering why she had bothered. Why should she care? She and Leliana had never been friends. But they had been comrades, once.

"Is Kieran his?" Leliana asked suddenly.

Morrigan froze, gazing down the darkened steps to the library, then turned back to Leliana. Hands now folded on the desk, Leliana returned Morrigan’s gaze, eyes as dark as ever. Morrigan knew who Leliana meant. It could only be Mahariel.

"Does it matter?" Morrigan asked.

Leliana glanced down, a crease in her brow. ”No. I suppose not.”

"Are you truly going to be Divine?"

"Does it matter?" Leliana asked, glancing back up.

"Ah. Then I take it that it’s the same answer as my own. Congratulations."

Leliana chuckled and shook her head before studying Morrigan again. The years had treated her kindly. She was still a remarkably attractive woman—all except for those eyes. As haunted as they were, Morrigan could not help but find them the most alluring part about Leliana.

"You never asked how I’m still alive," Leliana asked. "Do you know?"

"Do you know?”

"Ah. The same answer as my own again." Leliana stood and walked towards Morrigan. "Thank you for your help, even if it was for your own selfish reasons. We accomplished our goals, and now we can accomplish even more."

Morrigan put a hand on her hip and sneered. ”Tch. Ten years ago, I’d have said you wouldn’t make it long, but it’s clear from the trail of blood that led you here that you’ll survive just fine as Divine. The real question is if anyone else will. We shall see.”

Leliana laughed, a deceptively light sound. How deceptively sweet she had once seemed, her vicious nature hidden in the folds of her Chantry frock. Now that she wore it openly, she suddenly fascinated Morrigan in the same way that all dangerous, forbidden things fascinated her. ”And you and your son will do just fine,” Leliana said. ”You always seem to get your way.”

"Why shouldn’t I? No one else will get it for me. Goodbye, then. I doubt this will be our last encounter, but who knows how long until we meet again." Morrigan dipped her head and turned to walk back down the steps, but Leliana caught her wrist and spun her around. Before she could protest, Leliana’s lips closed on hers, hungry and wet. Leliana’s grip on her wrist grew painfully tight, but Morrigan found herself drawn into the kiss despite it. Or perhaps because of it. The warmth of Leliana’s mouth, the need in her questing tongue, shot a thrill down Morrigan’s spine, and when Leliana cupped her right breast, a surprising warmth spread between her legs.

And then, sudden cold as Leliana drew back, her pale face flushed. ”Goodbye, then.”

Morrigan worked her mouth, perhaps rendered speechless for the first time she could recall. Leliana folded her hands before her, silent and ungiving. Unsure of how to respond, Morrigan began her descent back down into the library. When she glanced back into the rookery, Leliana still stood near the stairs, watching her leave, her dark eyes reflecting the candlelight.


End file.
